Decaying
by raistss
Summary: Post-Red Dragon, AU, OC's, plot changes. Will's encephalitis is slowly growing worse. Lecter once suggested intercourse as a way to ground himself, and he finds himself thrown into it. Unfortunately, things quickly get out of hand for himself and the others around him. Rated T for mild thematic elements, language, violence, and sexual content.
1. Copy Cat

A/N: Hannibal and all the characters within will never be mine. Ever. As hard as I may try. Also, everything in this up to chapter five was written on the way back from Saint Louis. Lol, memorable.

* * *

Jack Crawford could remember when it all began, with a sort of bitter guilt. He'd called Will Graham up to Quantico for another case, as usual. The teacher and special agent hadn't shown up, and Jack couldn't wait on this one.

Will showed up eventually, having been half-asleep when Jack called. He didn't bother with a shower, pulling on jeans and his jacket before taking the 40.5 mile drive to Quantico on an empty stomach and with a killer headache. He really wished he lived closer to the place sometimes. He'd taken aspirin, still surprised that he didn't have ulcers at this point, but it hadn't changed anything.

People stared as he walked in, realizing that this pale, exhausted man was indeed the one who'd caught the infamous Hannibal Lecter - and nearly died in the process. He ignored them, already aware that his skin was nowhere near a healthy color, his face reminiscent of Salvador Dali's melting clocks. His time was running out, and Jack was using him more than ever now.

"Ah, there you are, Will," was the closest to a greeting he got from Jack, who caught up with him, directing him to his office. Will hadn't really exercised much, but he easily beat Jack's stride. The elder noticed the pallor of Will's skin, the sweat that coated his exposed skin, but said nothing. Everyone knew he was falling apart, but he'd openly refused to look for help of any kind after Lecter's betrayal.

"Security found a body in Saint Louis, near the Gateway Arch." Jack started, gauging Will's reaction. Nothing. "It would seem that Hannibal Lecter has an admirer," he added. Will's neutral expression slipped away, his eyes flashing with a deep, fiery hurt and betrayal at the name. He took a forced breath.

"I know it's a little early, but we really need you on this one." Will stared ahead, jaw clenched and silence his best friend. It had kept him sane during his stay at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, the irony. "You won't have to talk to Lecter," Jack offered. Will nodded, the motion hesitant and jerky.

"All right," he said, his voice weary and hoarse. "Just this one."

* * *

Jack knew all about Will's night terrors, having been the one to go through Lecter's patient files, and dear god - cookbooks. He'd never actually witnessed Will in the midst of a nightmare, though. He felt guilty for watching it now, but he was genuinely curious. Will had quickly fallen asleep during the long flight to Missouri, and he seemed to sleep soundly for two solid minutes.

Now he was far from relaxed. He didn't vocalize, but his panicked breathing and sweat-soaked clothes screamed louder than any noise he could make. He flinched awake, fighting to catch his breath and clutching the scar that trailed across his stomach subconsciously.

"You all right?" Jack asked, glancing over at Will briefly. The younger said nothing, still shuddering from the vivid dream.

"How long was I out?" Will asked, smoothing out his jacket over his midriff self-consciously. Jack glanced at his watch.

"About ten minutes."

"Jesus..." He scrubbed at his face. "New record."

Jack was silent for a moment. "In reference to what?"

Will glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "How much I slept."

"Why didn't you quit, Will?" The younger sighed, not really in the mood to be analyzed. "You caught Lecter. Seems like a good place to stop." Will closed his eyes, thinking.

"I didn't quit because I'm saving lives. There. Are you happy?"

Jack glanced at Will. "I'm going to put you on stress leave when this is all said and done," he said, and Will chuckled, a bitter, forced noise coming from him.

"Won't help me any. I'm already fucked, Jack."

* * *

"You've got to have _some_ way of coping!" Jack exclaimed, breaking the uncomfortable silence (to him) that had fallen between the two men. Will groaned in frustration, sick and tired of being poked and prodded at.

"Lecter suggested sexual intercourse. Before I caught him."

Jack's expression was priceless. "You mean...sex?"

"I just said it, didn't I?" Will wasn't amused. "What are you, twelve?"

"Like...you? And sex?"

Will glared. "It's not completely impossible, you know. I am human." Jack chuckled a little.

"I just don't think the words "Will Graham" and "sex" should be in the same sentence," he joked. Will glanced out the small window.

"I had a girlfriend, when I was a cop." He started off, his voice soft. "Molly, was her name. We lived together in New Orleans before I went to George Washington University. I was chasing this criminal, Francis Dolarhyde, who managed to find out our address after Freddie Lounds and I created an article to lure him out...you've probably heard about that." Will stopped, choking up a little. "He...well, he killed her. T-there was more, b-but..."

Jack regretted what he'd said before. He'd read about Will's capture of Dolarhyde, and that Molly had been one of his victims, raped and killed, mirror shards put in her eyes, but he hadn't realized Will had _known_ her.

"That was how I- that's when I got stabbed in the shoulder," Will whispered, wrapping his arms around himself and staring out of the window wistfully.

* * *

The crime scene, much like the original had been, was gruesome. The killer had mimicked Lecter's first murder as the Copy Cat, the girl's body impaled on a stolen stag head, ravens picking at her bare flesh. Her lungs were removed, just as they had been with Cassie Boyle. Will stood several meters away, having refused to come any closer after seeing the raven-feathered stag standing proudly in the forest, watching him with judgmental eyes.

Beverly Katz, Jimmy Price, and Brian Zeller were all standing around the body, as usual, pointing out key differences and estimating her time of death, dusting for fingerprints. Beverly paused, noticing that Will had come into view when she was taking a picture, and looked up at him. He had the same haunted look he'd had the first time, however he was much less healthy now. Jimmy and Brian glanced towards him too, then back to Beverly.

"Wait here," she whispered, jogging over to Will. Jack wasn't at his side like he usually was, having kept walking when Will had stopped. Beverly intentionally blocked his view of the scene, standing directly in front of him. He blinked, snapping out of his lethargy. His eyes met hers, slow and hesitant.

"Hey, Champ," she greeted, smiling broadly at him. He returned the smile, his weaker but still there.

"Back to work, I guess...Don't want to upset Jack," Will muttered. Beverly clapped her hand on his shoulder, feeling the overly tense muscles beneath.

"Why do you do everything for him, Will? He thinks you're broken. He tells everyone that. Not something I'd accept."

"But...I _am _broken," come's Will's confused response.

"No. You only say that because everyone else tells you that. You're not broken. Yeah, you might be falling apart, but I wouldn't go so far as to say you're broken." Will's eyebrows draw together, questioning. She notices how bloodshot his eyes are.

"You are the strongest person I know, Will. If I could do what you do, I would've lost it a long time ago." She sighs, trying to explain. "People say you've lost it but you haven't. Most people would've given up when they got stabbed in the shoulder. They wouldn't have ever made it through finding out that their psychiatrist friend turned out to be a cannibal using them for their own sick sense of curio-"

"Please stop," Will interrupts.

"Oh, god, I'm sorry. It just makes me so angry...I guess what I'm trying to say is, don't listen to everyone else. You're tough, ok?"

"Okay," Will says, not really sure what he's agreeing to.

* * *

A/N: WOW, that turned out longer than it was on paper. Okay, well, I'll just leave this here. Next chapter might be up tomorrow, might not. I don't know.


	2. Freddie

A/N: Alright, so I still have like 20 pages to type up. This chapter explores some more...sexual areas, lol. Not really descriptive about it though. (Sorry, Sam.)

* * *

"I saw your newest article about me," Will said, keeping his voice flat, uncaring. Freddie Lounds smirks at him, enjoying herself immensely. She'd shown up in St. Louis, too, but as always she was untouchable. Or maybe Jack just didn't feel like bothering with her yet.

"I do hope you appreciated the pictures," she whispers. "They were quite difficult to obtain." It was true, she'd almost been caught escaping the hospital staff and security. He wished she had.

"Oh yes, I certainly wanted to know what I looked like disemboweled, Mrs. Lounds. I'm sure I can find pictures of _your face_ before you could afford surgery." She snarls at him, not liking her loss of control over the situation.

"It really is a shame that you did receive surgery. I'm sure Mr. Dolarhyde was quite proud of his...little ball of fire." Will walks away, deciding he has much better things to do, leaving Freddie angry and itching for some form of revenge.

* * *

The killer's thoughts and motives were simple enough. The girl was an ex-partner who'd cheated on him, no big surprise there. But what really got to Will was his admiration for Hannibal Lecter.

Will picked up on a quiet, sensitive person who longed to be seen in the eyes of his true beloved. He'd be an avid reader of Tattlecrime, possibly even Freddie Lound's work, which meant he'd know Will had caught Lecter.

There would be anger directed towards him. Again.

Will reviewed everything with Jack and the team, and for once nobody argued with him. He hoped the rest of the day would go without further argument as the Missouri heat kicked in.

* * *

She had tracked him down somehow, driving up to his little house in Wolf Trap at 10:30 P.M. The flight and drive home had both been long and tiresome, and Will's head wasn't really in the game.

When he answered the door, he simply let her in and took a seat at his couch. She took a seat across from him. He didn't care that he wasn't really dressed; a dirty sleep shirt and a pair of worn boxers was the least of his concerns at this moment. She, however, was dressed for the occasion, sporting a red and black patterned coat over a black blouse, her skirt matching the coat. Her boots looked expensive.

"I'm still upset you said those things to me," Freddie said, eying Will like he was some dangerous creature that might attack suddenly. He scrubbed at his face furiously, feeling the exhaustion in his bones. He really, _really, _was not in the mood to deal with her.

"Tattlecrime finds you a very interesting topic, Mr. Graham. I tend to keep up to snuff with what's popular." Will said nothing, watching Winston walk over to him and jump up on his lap. He stroked the dog's back absently. "There are rumors that this new Copy Cat is you. It's a logical explanation, given your background, wouldn't you think?" Will glanced up at her, anger in his eyes. She smirked.

"I've already been proven innocent once before. Why would I push my luck?"Will realizes immediately after what a bad thing to say that is.

"Because you're bored," come's Freddie's smooth response. She stands up, walking towards him. "I can help you with your boredom," she whispers. Winston jumps off of Will's lap, wandering away. Freddie slides her jacket off and drops her purse on the coffee table. She moves slowly, no longer cautious but seductive.

"What are you doing...?" Will's body feels really weak all of a sudden. Freddie smiles, sliding her boots off and putting them aside.

"I can fix what I said, Will. I can also make it a lot worse," she quotes herself. Will rolls his eyes at her attitude but doesn't push her away when she sits next to him, sliding closer. Her foreign smell invades his nostrils, a clean vanilla scent in contrast to his seven-dogs smell and the stench of sweat that permeates everything he owns. She takes his scratchy cheek in her hand, turning his head towards her. He feels like he's drowning, like a boat in a new sea, thrashing around in a storm. He needs an anchor, he remembers.

"It isn't very smart to piss off a guy who thinks about killing people for a living, right?" Her voice is low, gentle. "What if I please him instead?" Will stares at her, his lack of glasses making it hard to see anything other than her. She leans forward, kissing him softly. He doesn't react, feeling rejection at the tip of his tongue but desire deep in his heart, some sick and twisted desire that's never been satisfied.

Lecter's suggestion echoes in his mind. _"You need an anchor, Will. Perhaps intercourse is an option?"_

He surrenders, kissing her back, not passionately but not with violent intent, either. He turns his body towards her and she straddles him immediately, her soft hands exploring his rigid, tired body. His thoughts shut down as they pull one another's clothes off.

* * *

He sleeps well that night, waking up at 4 A.M. to see Freddie Lounds, in all her glory, sprawled out next to him. He yelps in surprise, falling onto the floor and scooting as far away from her as possible. Which he discovers isn't very far, as his back slams painfully into the opposing couch.

Will panics, trying to remember what happened and denying it simultaneously. He thinks he must've lost time, he must've been sleepwalking, anything's possible. His head is pounding more than usual, his body sore and resisting his movements.

Freddie wakes up, confused by the loud noises and the foreign environment. She quickly covers herself, turning around to see Will curled on the floor in front of the couch, in the midst of a panic attack, and she has to resist a smirk. She knows exactly what she's up to and how she'll use this new view into Will's personal life. She walks over to him, seeing how his eyes are glazed, staring off into space, and his breathing is rough, uneven. She stands up, committing the image to memory, then gets dressed.

She leaves the blanket over his legs, out of common courtesy.

* * *

"I think I slept with Freddie Lounds," Will groans, nursing a cup of coffee and a new level of pain on the headache meter. Jimmy nearly spits his own coffee out, but Will doesn't notice it.

Brian stares at him, and Beverly freezes, dropping her fork loaded with eggs. Will sighs dramatically, pushing the cup away and resting his head in his hands. The other two men at the table stare at each other, then Beverly. She's flushed a little, a forced neutral expression on her face.

"What makes you say that?" She asks, feeling a spike of jealousy in spite of herself. Brian and Jimmy snicker, and she kicks them underneath the table.

"Well...it might've been a hallucination, but I definitely slept with somebody, who left in the morning..." He trails off, exhausted. "But I remember her coming over last night. I sniped at her in St. Louis, so she was upset. And then...yeah." He glances up, seeing that Beverly has turned and angry tomato red, the other two men cowering next to her.

"Bev?" he asks. "Are you okay?"

"I just really hate Freddie Lounds," she hisses. "Because I know exactly what she's doing." Will stares at her, not putting two and two together.

"Oh, boy, that woman has _some nerve_." Beverly stands up, stalking out of the restaurant.

"Oh," Will says, realizing what Beverly has figured out. "This day just can't get any worse, can it?"

* * *

Jack gets Freddie indicted for obstruction of justice, but she'd clearly done more than that. Tattlecrime dumps her, disappointed in her slip-up. Beverly, luckily, got to her before she posted her newest article, in which she "proved" Will to be the Copy Cat's admirer, having "already been a murderer" who just got bored and "mimicked his beloved's crimes." Surprisingly, she did not mention sleeping with him.

Will really was getting tired of his job.

Beverly offered to take him out for some drinks that evening. He supposed he had nothing better to do.

* * *

A/N: Woohoo! That took forever to type. It was a little different in the first draft, but, eh, I didn't like it. Next chapter might be up later today, or tomorrow. Whatevs. Also: I really ought to do some actual research on encephalitis lol. Wikipedia is uninformative.


	3. Beverly

A/N: Hey guys, I'm back with more! Let's hope I don't get too distracted while typing this...This chapter has some implied sexual content and some mild graphic descriptions of violence (self-harm.)

* * *

"I love you, you know." Beverly smirked at him, watching the mixture of emotions crossing his tired face.

"Okay that- where did that come from?" Will asked, finishing his second shot. He was relaxing, bit by bit, the alcohol in his system creating a comfortable warmth in his body. He hadn't had a drink in a long time, Will realized.

"I'm just reenforcing what I think you should know by now," she said, taking a sip of her own beverage. She used to take him out for drinks all the time, after cases and visits with Lecter. She'd buy him dinner and drinks, and they would talk, Will relieving himself of some stress for a while and simply enjoying Beverly's company.

Will sighed; a long, drawn out sound that Beverly heard from him far too often.

"I hope you do realize that I love you too, Bev. It just doesn't feel right to me. After Molly- I-I can't, okay? And I'm sorry about Freddie. God knows I don't love her." He stood up suddenly, looking out the window, his face drawn in confusion. Beverly turned around, looking too, and saw two of Will's students outside.

They were watching him. She waved them off and they grinned, running away.

Will was left confused; Beverly a little angry. "Let's take you home," she whispered.

* * *

Will couldn't move. He'd had difficulty waking up before, but now he was completely incapable of moving. The room swam around him, and he had no peripheral vision. He could feel the feverish sweat clinging to his skin, but he couldn't really feel the headache he knew he had.

Winston sniffed his hand, which was draped over the edge of the bed. Will groaned in response, feeling a wave of nausea sweep over him. He squinted against the light, willing his hand to reach the phone.

He hoped if he could move, he'd actually grab the phone and not some object inches away. Will's perception had been way off lately, and unless something was handed to him he'd usually miss it.

Suddenly, Winston jumped up onto the side table, taking the phone in his jaws and dropping it on Will's chest. He sat next to Will's head, smiling at him.

"Thanks, bud," Will mumbled, forcing his arm to the phone and auto-dialing Beverly's number.

* * *

She was there an hour later, helping him up out of bed and forcing him to eat breakfast despite the nausea building up in his stomach and the newly-returned headache. She figured his problem was just his circulation having been cut off somehow, perhaps a dog sleeping on him. Beverly managed to be cheery, despite everything.

"So, the Copy Cat Jr. hasn't been up to anything lately. Jack's getting restless."

Will choked on his orange juice. "Copy Cat Junior? _That's_ what you're calling him?"

"What's so bad about that name?" She asked, mildly irritated. "I picked it, you know."

"Oh." Will felt a little guilty. "Sorry."

* * *

The next few days were fairly uneventful. Copy Cat Jr. was still lying low, probably gathering materials for his next imitation. Jack didn't call Will, and Will didn't leave his house.

He stayed home, curling up with a good book (none too violent) to dive into, and a dog in his lap. Winston claimed him the majority of the time, but Will eventually finished his book. He grew more and more exhausted now.

He'd wake up from a nightmare with difficulty, lack of sleep dragging him back into his overloaded mind. Headaches and fevers kept him home, no longer bothering with aspirin, the curtains tightly shut and electronics silenced. He often saw the wendigo, its gruesome black form stalking through the shadows, waiting to finish him off.

The Chesapeake Ripper, Hannibal the Cannibal, and the Copy Cat all liked to finish his work.

On one of those nights, Beverly visited. She pulled him out of his bed, bribing him into taking a shower, jokingly solving the audio/photosensitivity problem with earplugs and a blindfold. He eventually adapted back to it, ignoring the headaches to the best of his ability.

She cooked dinner for him and they took the dogs for a walk, catching up with each other's lives. He didn't let on that his condition was getting worse, though.

* * *

Will sat down a his piano, playing the songs he still remembered for Beverly, despite the dysfunctional perception and alcohol pumping through his veins.

She'd poured them drinks, as the tradition went, and they were both more than a little drunk. He played Fur Elise out of key, stood up, and fell on Beverly, knocking both of them onto the couch. He chuckled, wrapping his arms around her cool body and kissing her lightly. She giggled, nuzzling the stubble on his cheek with her nose and kissing him back.

* * *

Beverly woke up to find Will in the bathroom across from the bed, sitting on the toilet lid with his knees pulled up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them as he stared blankly ahead. She stood up, noticing the blood trailing down his legs and dripping onto the floor.

The mirror behind him was shattered, bits of it stuck in the skin of his blood-soaked fist.

"Will?" She approached him slowly, noting his lack of reaction. She took his bleeding fist into her hand, finding a pair of tweezers and picking out a large shard. He didn't flinch, watching her. His blue eyes were glazed and distant. She worked carefully, picking out the pieces and dropping them into the garbage can.

"Why did you do this?" She asked, keeping her voice calm, gentle. She watched his eyes trail up to hers, devoid of emotion.

"I'm going to hurt you," he said. "I-I know I'm going to hurt you. I don't want to be with you because I'll hurt you, Bev."

"I won't let you hurt me, Will," she whispered, cleaning his cuts and the blood on the floor and his legs. "I promise."


	4. Two Students

A/N: I'm back! Still no reviews, though. Sad face. I like reviews very much... Anyway, this chapter gets really bizarre. Just a heads up.

Will stubbornly refused to go to the hospital, so Beverly took care of his hand herself. She fed the dogs and packed a bag of clothes for him, then drove him to her apartment to get dressed herself, having received a call from Jack.

He was silent the entire way. Beverly wondered what had made him snap, hoping it wasn't them being together. He might've thought that since they were sleeping in the same bed, that they'd had sex the night before, she realized. Will had made it very clear the first time she came over that he wasn't ready for a sexual relationship, and probably never would be. Beverly hadn't actually been drunk enough to not remember anything, though.

Will sat on the couch while she made breakfast, (which he ignored,) took a shower, and got dressed. They drove down to Quantico. Copy Cat Jr. had recreated Lecter's second kill, reconstructing the Shrike's nest and impaling a girl in it, much like the Marissa Schurr case.

"What's up with Will?" Brian asked, glancing over at said agent, who stood several feet away from the scene. Beverly cast a warning glance at her partner.

"Something set him off," she replied, vaguely. "Focus on this." He eyed Will's bandaged hand, then turned back to the body.

Again, they didn't get much of anything off of the body. Will picked up on the killer's senses, the amount of work he put into it and the emotions he held. There was desire, love, and a deep, profound respect for Lecter. Will was so repulsed by the feelings that coursed through him that he threw up in the bushes outside of the crude recreation.

Nobody missed the way that he did his work mechanically, like a robot called to its tiresome duty, then shut back down again afterwards. Beverly had no idea what she could do for him, though. She didn't know how to form the words he needed to hear.

She decided to pay Alana Bloom a visit.

* * *

Will didn't really register anything. He wasn't home, he knew that much. He stood, the room blurring and flickering like an old film. He found the door, leaving the room and discovering the elevator. The next thing he was aware of was that he was in a bar, the music pounding with his head and alcohol burning down his throat as the lights made everything glow in hideous shades of fluorescent pink and green and bl-

"Hello, Mr. Graham," came a soft voice next to him, and he turned, his eyes seeing Garrett Jacob Hobbs and Abel Gideon hovering next to him, giggling in high pitched voiced and whispering things he could not hear.

The room lurched and he was elsewhere, a dark, damp place with bricks and mortar and trash that reeked of things he'd rather not think about, and Hobbs and Gideon were kissing him, their hands running over his now thin body, tracing the scars beneath his shirt and he moaned in pain and confusion as they unbuckled his belt and pulled his clothes down, taking their own off slowly and oh my god, he thought this couldn't get any wor-

* * *

"Oh my god, Will!" He opened his eyes weakly, feeling every ache in his body and the pain the light caused him.

Beverly was there, kneeling next to him and helping his sore, sore body up so he was sitting. He realized his belt was undone and he fumbled with it, his hands shaking and devoid of feeling. She pushed them aside, fixing his belt and buttoning up his shoes for him. The alley was empty.

"This place reeks...Will, why are you here?" He shrugged helplessly, realizing his life was going out of control. He figured he'd had a seizure on top of whatever else had happened, feeling his stiff muscles.

Beverly helped Will stand up, guiding him out of the alley. Will stumbled along, his motions horrible uncoordinated. She led him back into her apartment, forced him to take a shower, then made tea for them. He sipped it gingerly, his sore body relaxing a little from the warmth that flowed through the beverage.

"What do you remember, Will?" She asked, setting her tea down. Will held his with shaking hands.

"I- nothing, really." His gaze flickered everywhere, panic underlining every movement. "I was here...and then, uh, I left."

"And you woke up in the alley?"

"No, that was after I went to...a-a bar..." He tried desperately to remember. "And then I saw Hobbs and Gideon, there..."

"Will, they're both dead. You killed them." Beverly stated, worrying about him. "Who were they really?"

"I don't know!" He exclaimed, angry. "I _want_ to, but I can't." He sipped quickly at his tea, burning his tongue.

* * *

Will drove down to Quantico to teach, claiming he was feeling well enough to do at least _one _thing. (Really, he just needed the money.) He taught the same as always, never making eye contact and explaining everything with a detachment from the subject.

Two of his students, a young blonde and a brunette, were staring at him throughout the lecture. He stopped them as they were leaving.

"Is there a problem?" He asked, simple and a little hesitant, afraid of the answer. His overworked imagination created innumerable situations in his mind.

"Nothing that would concern you, I'm sure. You work the alleys often?" Her voice was low, threatening.

Will was silent.

"I didn't think so," said the other girl. "Come on, June, he was hallucinating anyway."

A pencil he didn't know he was holding fell to the floor.

* * *

"I took stress leave from teaching," Will stated, pacing angrily.

Beverly stared at him, questioning without the use of a single word.

"Those two students who were staring at me when we went to the bar together? The alley this morning? Yeah, I know what happened now. I must've had a fever, been hallucinating...went to the bar 'cause I knew where it was...they took advantage of me. One of them was always trying to get my attention...I know I had a seizure, too..." He trailed off, sat down, and ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

"I'm going insane, Bev. I can't do this anymore. I told Jack it was bad for me, and I was right... I-I should be fixing boat motors. Collecting strays. Not this," he ranted, his hands still shaking. "Not this."

Beverly took his hands into hers, steadying them. "I talked to Alana, Will. She really wants to help you. And before you say anything, no, we aren't going to make you see a psychiatrist. Not that," she echoed his words.

"Not that," he whispered.


	5. Alana

A/N: That was the longest I've gone without updating for this story. My computer was acting up :P Don't feel like putting warnings on this chapter. Been watching these beautiful music videos far too much: watch?v=vH9K0diecWU and watch?v=8Mo7A8gmHps

* * *

Will's initial reaction to going to Alana's house was mixed. He was calm at first, not really saying anything due to the headache clouding his thoughts. He was feverish again, hallucinating at every turn. Beverly noticed the lack of color in his fingers and realized his circulation was acting up again.

As soon as the car stopped, however, Will sat stock-still, the color draining from his face as well. Beverly nudged him, getting out and walking around, making faces at him through the window.

He struggled to open the door, his fingers and toes devoid of feeling and his lack of perception disconcerting. He eventually got out, following Beverly instinctively.

* * *

Will had never felt so embarrassed as did now. He was sick, tired, and to top it off, Beverly had left, being called away for some extra tests on the Copy Cat Jr.'s second imitation.

Alana was quiet, unsure of where to start. Will felt the urge to speak, tugging in his chest like a lure, hooked in a fish's jaw, pulling it out of the sea.

"So...are we past the romantic overtures yet?" Alana asked, cringing immediately afterwards. Will suppressed a grimace.

"No," was his response. "Is this conversation going to go anywhere? Because I really just want to sleep. And preferably _not _wake up," he added, bitter and not entirely aware of the words escaping his lips.

Alana didn't say anything, at a loss for words. She noticed his injured hand. "What happened there?"

"Nothing." He folded his arms, hiding the bandaged hand efficiently. He was really defensive, Alana noted.

"Look, I'm sorry, Will. I really am." He flinched, looking away, irritated. "We can't just be together, though. It wouldn't be good for either of us."

Will's eyes met hers for half a second, quickly flitting away. He doesn't say anything as the wendigo walks up behind Alana, resting a possessive black hand on her shoulder, its long claws digging into her clothes.

He's staring, Alana has noticed. He looks away, focusing on the table between them.

Her gaze makes him uncomfortable.

* * *

The pain in Will's head had grown unbearable. He felt like there was an elephant sitting on his head, daring him to fold into himself.

Alana made lunch for them, but he felt a wave of nausea as soon as the food came into sight. She'd definitely noticed the reaction, asked him what was up, and he replied sharply with "the ceiling."

She didn't appreciate the response, and the thermometer pushing against his lips proved it. His delusional thoughts provided him with some dangerous ideas.

He reluctantly let her take his temperature, which she quickly found to be 105°F.

"Jesus, Will! You shouldn't be anywhere but the hospital ri-"

Will clutched her body, pulling her down on top of his overheated body. Her lips were cool against his, and she yelped in surprise as his skin burned against hers.

He was drowning, the currents pulling him down under, and her reached for her desperately as a drowning man would reach for air, a life preserver, anything above the surface to pull himself ba-

She yanked herself out of his grasp, distancing herself from him. There was anger in her eyes until they met his.

Will's breathing was shallow and labored, his chest heaving painfully as desire and illness clouded his blue eyes. He whined, reaching out for Alana again, drowning, drowning, _drowning..._

* * *

He awoke in a soft bed, a cold washcloth folded on his forehead and a thin sheet covering his soaked body. He'd been stripped down to his shirt and bowers, and he realized it wasn't a hospital bed he was in. As his vision came into focus, he saw Alana.

She was reading something, a look of horror on her face. Will tried to sit up, failing miserably. He resorted to speaking.

"What's that?" He asked. Alana jumped, folding it up quickly and putting it in an envelope. She set it on the side table.

"For later," was all she said.

* * *

"Copy Cat Junior has struck again," Beverly comments, observing the man's body, leaning back in his chair, his face mutilated into a crude Glasgow smile.

"I don't see why you keep calling me in, Jack." Will says, sitting on a nearby ottoman. "I'm not getting anything out of these, and I have a ridiculous fever..."

Jack sighed in frustration. He was well aware that Will really ought to be in a hospital, but he wanted _something _to work with.

"All right. Go home, take a shower..." He smiled a little as Will glared at him. "Relax," Jack added, helping Will stand up.

"Take care of yourself, Graham."

Will laughed, sarcasm making it humorless.

"I'll try," was his response.

* * *

Alana drove them back to her house, gathering the clothes he'd gone through at both her and Beverly's houses. He was standing, reading the letter Alana had been reading before, his face pale.

"_Dear Mr. Graham,_" it read.

"_I hope you've enjoyed my last three shows. I do hope Dr. Lecter sees my love and admiration of him, since his love for you was clearly not returned. I'm hurt that you would reject a man like him so bitterly, simply because he created such wonderful works of art for you. He really ought to have succeeded in cutting you open when he had the opportunity, it would have been most spectacular. Maybe I will one day succeed where he did not, and earn his love._

_P.S. I'm really not fond of the name 'Copy Cat Junior.' It is quite tasteless._

_Until next time,_

_Ebony._"


	6. Bella

A/N: I'm back! Got carried away with those other little ficlets, heheh. Gonna attempt to finish this before I go too much further with the Shutter Island crossover. Hope nobody is too out of character. :) Enjoy!

* * *

The first thing Will did when he got home was feed the dogs. He'd been gone four days, and their dishes were nearly empty. They clambered around him excitedly, jumping up on his leg until he let out a warning "tsst."

His head ached, fear weighing down his stomach from the unsettling message he'd read just before. He was finding it extremely difficult to think, and the words fluttered out of his grasp right as he remembered them.

Will barely managed to stay awake through the shower, not noticing the freezing water pouring down his back. It felt good, through his fever. He clambered out, brushing his teeth with some difficulty before pulling on a pair of boxers and collapsing in his bed. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, watching as dead bodies and stags and wendigos danced around above his head, flickering like a video that just wouldn't buffer.

His eyes slid shut, and he thought, briefly, he'd like to not wake up.

* * *

Bella Crawford knocked on Will's door, and it swung open slightly, a herd of dogs scrambling to smell her. She gave her attention to all of them, closing the door behind her.

"Will?" She asked, looking for him through the dark room. The golden retriever, Winston, whined and guided her through the house. He hopped up on Will's bed. As Bella's eyes adjusted, she saw him, awake but clearly not conscious. Despite the dark of the room, the fevered sweat coating his skin glistened. He was incapacitated and struggling to breathe.

_At least he's alive_, she thought.

He didn't see her, for he made no noise of recognition as she repeated his name, resting a hand on his burning forehead to gauge his temperature. Winston let out a low whine, knowing something was wrong with his friend.

"I hear you, bud," Bella said, sadness in her words. She ignored the slight headache she had, the tightness in her chest.

Bella tried to wake Will up one more time, and gaining no reaction, she calmly called 911 and explained the situation. She stayed on the phone as requested, listening to the short, pained gasps that Will was taking. She brushed a strand of wet hair out his face softly, feeling only sympathy. She knew Jack had good intentions, and that he didn't mean to hurt Will, that he actually cared very strongly for the younger man.

She didn't feel any bitterness or resentment. She only wished she'd been able to meet Will sooner.

The ambulance came some time later, taking him away on a stretcher. A gentle woman with soft golden hair asked her a few questions, then told her where they were taking him.

Bella felt as though she should go with him, but said nothing. She'd accepted her cancer a long time back.

* * *

Alana sat closest to Will, her hand wrapped tightly around his. Jack had been at the foot of the hospital bed a few minutes before, but Alana had lost her temper at the sight of him. She felt a little guilty, but she couldn't help feeling resentment towards the man. He'd only pushed Will from the beginning.

Beverly said she'd visit later, when she was off. Bella was seated across from Will, a stack of books in her lap. Her face showed no expression, but her eyes shone with sympathy. Alana felt childish in her presence.

"I'm sorry I exploded on Jack," she said, feeling Will's warm finger twitch beneath her hand.

"There's no need to apologize to me, " Bella replied, moving the stack of books onto the side table. Alana couldn't make out the titles, but they were old. "I'm sure he respects you enough to understand."

Alana was silent for a moment, listening to the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor behind her. She glanced towards Will's face, obscured by the oxygen mask. He'd been given an MRI upon arrival, and the doctors had found his encephalitis. There wasn't much they could do, however. The inflamed side of his brain had grown so bad that it was pushing down on his brain stem, affecting his breathing and circulation.

They were giving him corticosteroids to reduce the swelling, but the doctors had reluctantly admitted it was too late to really save him. They didn't give him long. A week, one predicted. Maybe a month.

Bella gave herself that much, too.

Will's eyes fluttered open, his soft grey-blue eyes locking with Alana's. He'd woken up in hospitals before, drugged and in pain. He'd been confused the first two times. Now, he knew not to panic when waking up to a ventilator covering his face, tubes and wires jabbed into his arms, drugs flowing through his system.

Alana's eyes were wide, and he swims in their blue depths. He can't speak, and he doesn't want to. Bella watches from his left, and he feels gratitude for her presence.

He smiles weakly at her through the mask, a genuine smile she'd never seen before.

Beverly joins an hour later, talking to him. He listens.

* * *

Jack visits several days later, holding a thick vanilla file and showing Will pictures of the Copy Cat Junior's last two kills. Beverly had brought Will a dry-erase board with a marker, and he scribbles out responses to questions when he can think clearly enough.

The fourth kill is just like that of Georgia Madchen, a girl who was given a comb in a hyperbaric chamber. Will stares at the picture of her charred corpse in silence, feeling sorrow tug at his heart. He'd liked Georgia. He could relate to her.

Will could relate to Abel Gideon, as well, but he doesn't mention it.

The fifth follows the murder of Abigail Hobbs. However, Will didn't throw up her ear - he still has nightmares about that - it was mailed to his lecture hall. The return address is fake. The girl has disappeared, likely having been a dinner at this point, Will realizes, grimly. He writes so on the board in scratchy, disjointed text. Jack has to stare at the words for a moment to make anything out.

He shakes his head in agreement, a slightly pained look crossing his face. He asks Will if the killer has a face for him, if he'll kill again, but Will can only shrug. He doesn't know, and the cases haven't left anything for him.

His mind is too disjointed to piece anything together in the first place.

Will doesn't see why Jack is continuing to rely on his help.

He doesn't remember to tell Jack about the letter.


	7. Father

A/N: Alright, last chapter. Sorry it took so long, I've been busy. Hope it isn't too depressing... :/

* * *

Will had been in the hospital for two days before anything happened. Bella, Beverly, and Alana all visited throughout the time. Sometimes Jack did, too. The Copy Cat Junior, or Ebony, had gone quiet, and Will forgot about the letter as a result. Everyone figured they wouldn't catch him, but they looked over the evidence over and over anyways.

It was the night of his third day, when Ebony emerged from his silence. He asked to visit Will, was told where to find him, and attacked him. Fortunately, security was tight enough that he didn't get far before he was caught and taken to jail. He confessed to his actions as the Copy Cat Junior quite readily.

Will had survived, of course, but the event had taken energy from him that he needed.

He fell asleep when Beverly brought Jimmy and Brian as well, but they didn't mind.

* * *

When Will awoke, he found his father sitting next to him. The man was very similar to Will in appearance - he was well-built, his hair a mop of chocolate curls over his striking green eyes. He too, wore simple plaid shirts and worn jeans. He was in his fifties, now. Will hadn't seen him in almost twenty years. He could tell he was holding something, but he couldn't see it very clearly.

His father noticed that he was awake. "Hi, Will," he said, his voice cracking slightly. He let a weak smile cross his face.

Will said nothing, sitting up slightly. He winced as a wave of nausea washed over him.

The elder was nervous, the emotion hovering just above Will's head. He hadn't showered in a while, Will noticed. Probably just got off a plane less than an hour ago. Will knew both of his parents had been informed about his admission and release at the Baltimore State Hospital, but neither had shown up. They hadn't been there when he was stabbed, shot, imprisoned, or disemboweled. He was understandably bitter.

His father saw the memories flicking across his eyes. "I know, alright? I know..." He trailed off, uncomfortable. "And I'm sorry," he added, the guilt apparent. Will's expression softened a little.

"I'm sorry I haven't been a good father," he said. Will wished he could talk. He was too exhausted to reach the marker-board that sat on the side table.

The elder was silent for a moment, contemplating. He leaned towards Will, placing the object he'd been holding on his son's chest. Will glanced down to see it. It was a ragged stuffed dog, old and slightly dusty, the stitches loose. Will remembered when it had been half his size, bright tan and fluffy like Winston.

"I found it when I was looking through some stuff," he said. "I was going to mail it to you...but I realized I don't know your address...so, yeah."

Will met his father's eyes, pulling the stuffed animal into his arms slowly. He fought to stay awake, listening as his father told stories of their past and what he'd been up to recently.

Eventually Will fell asleep, despite his efforts not to.

* * *

His mother was there the next day. She looked nothing like him, though. Tall and thin with straight blonde hair, ice blue eyes. She noticed the stuffed dog but said nothing. A diamond ring adorned her finger, but it was not from his father. Will pointedly ignored her, as she made no effort to speak to him. Resentment was the only emotion coming from her.

A steady beeping and their breathing was the only sound in the room for half an hour. When she did speak, her voice was sharp with the intent to hurt. "You look lovely."

His eyes met hers briefly, flicking away. She sneered.

"Can't even look your mother in the eye, huh? I haven't seen you since you were 10, William. Show some respect." Will did nothing, his jaw clenched. "Didn't expect anything else from a killer," she muttered. His heart rate climbed, anger clenching his half-asleep fingers into fists.

"You deserve whatever comes to you," she said sweetly, her lips curving up as a nurse came in. "I was just leaving, thank you," she said as the nurse started to speak. She sat up, walking swiftly out of the room.

Will's fists were still clenched as the nurse checked up on him.

* * *

Bella was admitted that day after coughing up blood in the sink, and she visited him once she was stabilized despite doctor's protests. She sat next to him, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest. The machines were practically doing everything for him at this point.

His eyes fluttered open, locking with hers. She found the color startling, a perfect mix of ice blue and pastel green that appeared grey from a distance. His eyes were red, shining from unshed tears. She could see how rough his day had been without hearing anything about it. She eyed the stuffed dog with curiosity.

Will watched her in silence, his face a forced neutral expression. She picked up one of the books on the side table, setting it in her lap and flipping to the first page. It was a children's book, simple and mildly interesting with a moral at the end. He listened, feeling a calm come over him as the words passed through his mind.

He was completely relaxed when she finished, and she offered him a soft smile. He could tell she was sick, too.

She'd accepted that she was going to die, though.

He hadn't.

* * *

Jack stood, remembering everything he'd put Will through. He saw Alana and Beverly, flanked by Jimmy and Brian, all dressed in black. He glanced down at his own black suit momentarily.

Bella and Will had both died the morning after that, in their sleep. They simply didn't wake up.

All he could feel was guilt.

Their funerals were held together, caskets next to each other, tops open for one last look before they were buried, six feet underground, stones with their names the only proof they ever existed. Will's face was calm, happy even. He smiled through death, freed at last from the demons that plagued his mind his whole life.

His father was there, tears trailing down his slack face. His mother was nowhere to be seen.

Jack saw the stuffed dog in Will's hands and briefly remembered his dogs - Alana and Beverly would probably take them, he thought.

Maybe he'd take one, too.


End file.
